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Welcome to Tallygarunga, an original roleplay set in the Harry Potter universe. Set in present-day Australia, tensions are high between the Ministry of Magic and the only Ministry-run wizarding school in the country. Become like the other snooty private schools? Not a chance.

Originally established in August 2006, Tallygarunga prides itself on an inclusive and active community. Once part of the Tally family, always part of the Tally family. Whether you're here for the first time, the thousandth time, or returning after a long time---welcome home.

"Young ones need plenty of supervision," Vladimir remarked softly to his brother, red eyes coasting along the various young ones, from Caleb and baby DJ to the triplets, to thinking of Lorelei and Lauren - Vladimir had to keep reminding himself not to call her Flora. "Yeah I get that, but honestly I've got this," Viktor replied, even as Valerian and Violetta were currently attempting to scale him like a statue. His eyes then turned to the passing figure of Améa, lingering for a few moments before he focused below eye level, having felt the tug of his hand. Veronika, yes. Best he focus on the young one and not Améa.
After all, he was not to make undue attention to her and their current state of affairs. But he was happy all the same.
"If you say as such, Viktor," Vladimir replied before he wordlessly gave in to Nika's request, placing the girl upon his shoulders. His brother knew what he was doing, at least in Vladimir's estimation, though it was debatable as to whether or not he truly had this, as he put it. Viktor, meanwhile, happily entertained the kids, all the while keeping his eye on Vlad and his emotional state. The man didn't even announce where he was going, but Viktor would bet a few galleons that he was going to see where Améa had gone.
All Viktor could do was send the thought to Jez, Isn't it cute how they think we haven't noticed? He may have also snickered at that, but it died away when the kids distracted him again, causing him to fall back on his rear end.
That was probably karma in action right there.
Meanwhile Vladimir had meandered his way to the kitchens with Veronika still upon his shoulders, the ghost of happiness quickly crossing his face when he saw Améa there. He made sure it dissipated quickly in case any of their family came through the doors - again, undue attention would simply not do. "Do you require any help, Améa?" Vladimir asked of her as he helped Nika get down from his shoulders. The little one grabbed onto his hand and said, "We should still help. Help is always welcome." At that, Vladimir smiled a little and nodded. "That is quite true. Help we shall, Veronika."
Vladimir turned to the sink to wash his hands, missing it as the little triplet turned to look at Améa and say to her, "Uncle Vladimir makes you happy! That's a good thing."
Perhaps for the best that Vladimir didn't hear it lest his expression break and it become very obvious to everyone else what was going on. He turned back to help Améa, meanwhile looking around and asking her, "Where is Adele? With Stuart?"
Because even Vladimir - spent most of his time either with his music or with Améa - had noticed what was going on there. He had always been observant, and this was no exception.

With their picnic in place, Vladimir was admittedly caught in simply watching Améa as she settled herself and prepared everything to her liking. There was a smile on her face that caused him to want to smile back, completely unbidden and against his usual protocol of keeping his emotions to himself. But, as time had gone by with Améa, and as he'd allowed himself the luxury of cultivating and relishing in this world that they had formed with one another, he found that he didn't mind smiling. The hurt wasn't there anymore - not when Améa made it go away.
It was perhaps for the best that Vladimir did not know of the cover story that Améa had given to Mary. Not that Vladimir had any shame for the relationship he had with Améa right now, save for the fact that she was still yet a married woman for all intents and purposes where oaths and promises were considered. That did not make Vladimir fret in the slightest. No, his concern would be the reaction of Stuart and Adele were they to find out, and worse if their reaction was... less than enthusiastic, put mildly so.
But, he supposed they could deal with that when the time came. Vladimir followed Améa's lead to keep things in their private sphere for now. So it was decreed, and so it would be done.
Her words and her smiled buoyed his own to increase before his expression settled to something a little softer as he let go of her hand to reach for a slice of apple. Lord above, he was sure his facial muscles had had no reason to smile this much in longer than he could care to count. "It is poetry of this world, in an older form of English than what we are used to in this day and age," he explained once he had polished away the apple slice. "As I am sure there are famous poets of your world, so too were there poets here. One of the most famous of them all was Shakespeare. I know of others, but they are in Russian and to that language, I know you are not familiar with." Perhaps one day he could at least show her the nuances of the language, but for now... this was more than enough.
"A sonnet is a poem of a particular type, that has fourteen sentences... Oft used to convey a story or a theme, as Elizabeth Barrett Browning had done," Vladimir explained further, before his brow formed a line of focus as he recited from memory, "When our two souls stand up erect and strong, face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher, until the lengthening wings break into fire. At either curvèd point,—what bitter wrong can the earth do to us, that we should not long be here contented? Think. In mounting higher, the angels would press on us and aspire to drop some golden orb of perfect song into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay rather on earth, Belovèd,—where the unfit contrarious moods of men recoil away and isolate pure spirits, and permit a place to stand and love in for a day, with darkness and the death-hour rounding it."
He let himself smile at Améa and said, "And that, my dear Ruella, is but one example... That sonnet there was of two spirits, connected, a wedding of souls as it were." There was a confession waiting on the tip of his tongue that he eventually let drop in the face of the sonnet and of their privacy. "I must admit, when you speak in English it reminds me of the old ways of English, of poetry being spoken, and I do like it so."

With decent temperatures and weather abound, Vladimir saw no qualms in the day's events as planned.
The lake had always been a fascinating area in Narrie for the man, even when he had been attending at Tally as a boy grown to man. Generally secluded, calm, away from the hustle and bustle of everything and everyone. What better a place for a picnic with his Ruella? His self from a year ago would have scoffed at the notion that he could be genuinely happy - that his life would finally have more of a meaning and a purpose than it had had for years. That he could, and had, found proper and true love. It gave him a strength that was different from the blood that Améa would provide him with, and different from all other relationships.
It made him want to positively sing. The maestro of his own personal orchestra, one voice.
And yet Vladimir made careful to not make their relationship overtly obvious, as was for the best. A part of him did not want to risk shattering what he and Améa had been building - that his luck would run out and something or someone would tear them apart and to pieces. That if indeed Mary or Stuart found out there would be hell to pay. But neither did he want to deny what was so clearly true and obvious... It was a quandary that Vladimir often set aside to let his feelings govern. He loved her after all.
"Here," Vladimir had suggested, picking a space under some trees for shade, keeping them secluded and away from anyone normally walking the pathways. Blanket set, basket on the ground now, Vladimir offered to help Améa sit and get comfortable before he took his own seat next to her. He let out a sigh of contentment, one that he only permitted Ruella to hear. He was at true ease.
Vladimir had been looking forward to this for some time. Any time he was able to spend with Améa in true and perfect solace let his muscles relax and his posture slacken in a way that he could not truly put words to. Only that Améa was the source of his good feelings and he did not want that to change as he reached for her hand and clasped it in his own.
And, with them all alone, he let himself speak the words aloud that he always did when they were finally able to be together without interruption. "I do love you so, Ruella," he said plainly, his fingers idly rubbing against her own as he held her hand. "I would, if you will permit me of course, like to read to you some poetry, if that is to your liking."

When the words had left Vladimir's lips, a sliver of his brain was dedicated to innate panic. Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything. Perhaps he should have kept to silence and remained Améa's stoic and silent partner, the guard he had promised himself to be. A confidant, dare he say even a friend. To have loved and then lost it, and then open oneself up again could lead to nothing but disaster and ruin. Of course part of him was afraid. He had had his heart stomped on, his very nature scorned and spat upon. That part of him that was afraid wanted him to take the words back out from the air, swallow them whole, erase them from existence.
But for one, it was too late for such things, and secondly, he didn't want to do that. He'd needed her to know how he felt, and as frightening as it was, he knew he could not have it any other way. Ruella - he could not get enough of that name as he rolled it around in his mind, desired to use her shorthand verbally more often now that he had her permission - was dear to him. He would never break his vow to her, and he knew she would not break her vow to him, but he needed her to know the added weight behind his confession.
This love felt so real. Once the heart had found that it liked the word once again, it seemed as though everything else simply fell into place. The sight of her alone was enough to get his own heart racing, echoed only by the sound of her own heart and pulse thumping away in her body. The sounds were so accessible with his senses, even more so with the recent feed. Everything was heightened, but especially his emotions.
Would that she could hear the way his heart thumped away in his chest, but perhaps she could feel it, what with the way he still held her close until he got an answer from her.
Always. Love you.
Vladimir absorbed the weight of those words, his expression turning from the bewildered expression after their kiss, from the pangs of agony from when he first entered the room in his hunger, and shifted to a smile. Gentle at first, then it grew. His expression shifted upon its axis, the joy in hearing those words on her lips causing his stoicism to fall away into nothing, crumbled to dust. She loved him, he loved her, and it was only right that she see him for the man he could be. For the expressions and joy and love he could show her, and offer, if she would have him.
He didn't have to worry.
"Always," he repeated, his happiness broaching into his speech, "Always that I will love you. This I promise, vow, any word in your language and mine that conveys the strength and desire I have to give you all that I have to offer, and all that I have to love." Though with the feed, his emotions were heightened in more ways than one, he did not let himself jump ahead. Primal instincts wanted to jump forward, but he would not be so hasty, no. Not without knowledge that they were both in agreement. He let his lips press against her cheek, never letting go of her throughout all of this.
"I love you," he told her again against her skin. Now that he'd said the words, he wanted to say them over and over, tasting the joy in his mouth with every utterance. "I want to show you the depths of which I do. To show you the joys of life, of love, happiness. Our vows will never be left to the wayside, of course, this goes without saying... But I want to show you the man that I am, and of what I am capable of with... with you at my side. I had thought I knew what love was, and it was crushed. This?" He indicated the two of them standing there in each other's arms, longing to lay down with her and hold her close though that was neither here nor there at that particular moment. A subject to be broached eventually, but not yet, not when other emotions and statements needed to be made that were fundamentally more crucial.
"This is true love. Acceptance of everything that embodies us, from the good to the faults. Your Sorceraic nature and mine Dhampiric own. Does this make sense, Ruella?" Was he articulating it just right?

It hadn't escaped his notice that her hand went through his hair as he fed from her. How could he miss it when drinking her blood and allowing its powers to rejuvenate and empower him caused him to witness the world in ways he didn't even know were possible? And when he had finished, the feelings did not go away. Of course, he had thought that once the feeding was complete, Améa would wish to part from him, to let them each have their space.
So it was that Vladimir was quite pleased that she kept her hold on him.
Her forehead resting against his was electric, and not only in the sense of it physically, but inwardly his emotions were all over the place. He could practically feel the warmth of her radiating from her skin, her nose near to his. God, she was beautiful, and he could not help himself from letting his heart want to sing in place of his brain. But he could see into her eyes, the expression on her face.
Always was a powerful word, and Vladimir would have been more than glad to reciprocate. His lips, on the other hand, became thoroughly occupied when Améa moved in close and took that peck. He had seen the movement of her face, had not anticipated she would do this. Vladimir was lost in the best kind of way. It was enough for him to capture the sensation into his brain, the feel of her lips against his. Could she taste her own blood that still stained them? Vladimir had dreamt more than one of being able to take Améa into his arms and kiss her, to show her what true love and affection for someone was. He'd never actually stopped to think that this was a real and visceral possibility.
"Ruella," Vladimir uttered when their lips parted, the man having no desire to move himself away. No, he ended up digging into impulse and let his lips press against hers in turn. It was gentle and cautious - her lips were soft and now that Vladimir had gotten a taste, he wanted more. And yet... Gah. Good Lord, how was it possible to love someone as much as he did her?
Air again, Vladimir pulled away and let his forehead press against hers, letting his nose touch hers for a moment. Out with it, then, out with everything - if he didn't, he would implode from his own consciousness.
"God, Ruella," he said at first, desire clear in his voice, but he didn't let himself get hasty, no. It would have been a disservice to both her and him. He needed her to know. He hadn't thought it would be tonight, but she needed to know. And he needed her to know lest everything crumble to the ground and leave him broken again. "You know you have my vow, you have me for always. But I need you to know that I love you. And I know it is different from the other one... this one feels real. Actions, not just words."
There. it was out, and now his entirety was in her hands - his eyes spoke as much when they bore into hers. Please, I don't want it to crumble again.

Of all the reactions he had thought would come from Améa, especially in his frenzied state of thirst, her smile and laughter were not one of them. Vladimir's red eyes blinked, once, then twice, as his mind went carefully blank for that split second. After that moment of surprise passed across his face, Vladimir remained carefully still and silent as Améa professed her consent. What seemed to him a gentle chiding of his worry, Vladimir opened his mouth a moment to respond but promptly shut once he felt her hand on his cheek.
He had to explain where his worry came from.
But for another moment Vladimir allowed himself the luxury of remaining silent, listening to the rest of Améa's words. Or... Ruella. Vladimir was more than familiar by now with Améa's full name, her proper name, but never had he thought it right to call her by anything other than Améa, or my dear, as he was becoming quite attached to calling her. Ruella... there was a level of intimacy there, he noted, though he supposed that since he was about to drink from her, it was to be expected.
"Ruella." He repeated, the R trilled because of his accent, rolling around the name in his mouth as though he were tasting it. "You must understand, Ruella... I cannot simply take, or assume consent. I do not want to become the monster that is inside, that courses through my veins. This is all new... and when I get this way," he indicated his fangs just then, longer than normal in his desire for blood, "I cannot help but worry. I do not wish to harm you, and I lo-... I care a great deal about you."
In a moment of weakness, or perhaps simply his way of showing affection, he turned his head slightly and placed a kiss on her palm. "I endeavour to fret less... forgive me for my worry. Before, I never... she never..." His former love had never offered herself in that way, not unless he was on the verge of collapse - this now was unfamiliar territory for Vladimir.
But Améa insisted he drink, and so drink he would do.
Without a second thought, Vladimir brought his arm around her waist, pulled her close, lowered his head to press his lips to her neck. Inhale, listening to the sound of her pulse in his ears, Vladimir then sank his teeth into her neck and began to drink from her. If he had thought drinking from her wrist had brought with it an unnatural high, then drinking from her neck increased that by tenfold. A low moan escaped him, and it set his blood aflame, due in part to both her blood itself and the energy it brought him, but... the other sense of intimacy it brought with it. It was heightening his emotions, and he had little control over that.
His senses heightened, when Vladimir pulled back from her neck he breathed deeply, looking at Améa with as unguarded a look as he had ever given her. The world around him was alive; he could feel his strength returning. But now he wondered, and wanted both to keep it to himself but to also ask her - did she feel what he did? His eyes asked her that question where his voice did not.
"My Ruella... thank you."

Her smile was welcoming, but the frown that came after was to be expected. At the very least, it didn't seem as though she was going to push him away, instead ushering him inside her room and closing the door behind her. In the time it took for her to secure the door, his ears catching the sound of the mechanisms clanking into place, he felt another stab in his abdomen, another nudge in his brain. He let out the smallest of hisses, hands rising up to clutch at his temples, tongue running over his elongating fangs.
You are stronger than this, damn it, control yourself.
Améa's words brought him back to the present, hands lowering from his head, body turning to look at her. In the centre of the room, her eyes honed on him, and he could hear her heart thumping in her chest. It was clear, a bell being tolled, and it was another guiding point to have him calm down enough to tell her what was wrong - if his elongated fangs were not proof enough already of what was the matter with him.
As long as she did not think badly of him - he was her Vladimir after all. And Vladimir was not sure what he would do if suddenly that was gone.
Maybe it was a sign of how strong it was, that his first inclination was to approach her, to take her hands in his and try to calm down her racing heart. "I will be fine, my dear, I'm sure of it. I..." He trailed off, a lump forming in his throat. How did he work his way to saying what he needed without it looking like some sort of proposition, what with him coming to her room at this time of night. But it couldn't be helped.
"I need your help. Améa, please... I need blood. The sun, the heat, it is taxing my energy. I need some before the vampiric blood in me makes me do something I shouldn't." He did not want to become the monster his first love had accused him of being.

Night had well and truly fallen. The heat was excrutiating, and for Vladimir and his dhampiric nature he kept himself inside during the daylight hours as much as possible. The sun was no good to his skin, and when he was out and about, his blood had much work to do in order to keep himself in shape, and at full strength. It was taxing, and as Vladimir lay in bed that night, he could feel his thirst rising. He shut his eyes, attempting to blot out anything else from his senses, but all that served was to augment the hunger within him. Warm, sweet, energized blood. He ran his tongue over his fangs, taking a deep breath in, then out.
Sitting up in bed, he knew he would not sleep this night. The heat and his thirst were too much for his mind and body to handle.
Vladimir began to pace his room, glancing at his cello before he shook that idea from his mind. No, it was not the time for such - he did not want to alert the other denizens of the home to his presence, to his state of being right now. He let his hands comb through his hair, hold the side of his temples as he grit his teeth. He was stronger than his urges, of course, but that did not mean they were easy for him to fight off.
He needed fresh blood, and he needed it soon.
Putting on a robe to cover the boxers he wore, Vladimir tied the belt and escaped the four walls of his room that seemingly mocked him for his thirst. A true monster, wanting the taste of human sustenance, but he couldn't help himself. Still, he knew what he needed to do, who he needed to see, if she were awake and would have his company. She had made him promise to seek her out if he needed her help in this way, and he was ready to put himself in her hands. He trusted her. He bloody well loved her at this point, though he had yet to speak such words aloud.
Approaching Améa's door, Vladimir gently knocked, and then spoke quietly, "Améa... may I see you, please?" And then, because it was the safer option, he called out through their telepathy, I need your help.

3 January, 2019
It is perhaps somewhat amazing how much one's life can change within the span of a single year. At this time last year, I had recently returned not long to Merlbourne and Australia. I had trouble integrating back into my family circle, after years of separation and not nearly as much contact as should have been had, due to my own doing. I had made my walls erected so high that even I could not scale that which I had created. I had not expected the incident at the Unwedding that Jezebel and Viktor planned. I had not expected to bear witness to Améa shrinking down to a child's size before my very eyes, to watch my niece Lorelei turn into a teenager.
To be tasked as a guard for Améa at Mary's home. To witness the miracle of Matthew Belmont's revival.
To drink from Améa.
The latter of those was perhaps the most unanticipated. To drink from her, to sit and discuss our histories, our strengths and weaknesses. There seems to be much we can express without even a single word. Ever since I drank of her I can pinpoint her location. I can communicate with her via our mental telepathy with more ease. I can sense when something is amiss, and all this augmented by my dhampiric senses. The bond we developed, none of this I could have imagined when I returned from Moscow.
Now more than ever do I believe I have fallen head over heels in love with the woman. I shouldn't have. But neither can I deny what my heart feels.
Christmas was a lovely affair, in all honesty. I gifted unto Améa a box of chocolates (for the twins do tell me that every girl loves chocolate) and a rose, and she seemed most pleased with it. Though part of me does wonder if my own smile to see her pleased helped buoy her mood, but nevertheless, I was most pleased. I rang in the new year with everyone and it was... glorious.
I do not believe I have smiled so much around my family and friends in some time... though I find myself smiling more so in Améa's presence. I do attribute part of that due to the fact that she seems to appreciate when I do so. It is clear that my smile makes her happy, and I am finding that when I am able to make her happy, I feel my own happiness grow. I should take the time to talk to Stuart. A duty and a promise to Améa I do have, but I do understand that there are things I should attend to.
I have not as of yet drank from her again, not since that fateful day in August. But my thirst is beginning to rise, and I know I should feed soon. I will need to discuss this with her. I am more than aware that if I feed from her, my own feelings will grow - but she seems more than aware of this now. And if I became a monster, her monster I would be - I do no longer fear rejection.
Enough writing for now. We are to go look after the animals this afternoon, and I did promise Améa I would help.

When Améa spoke again, there was a small weight that was lifted from Vladimir's chest. She understood where he was coming from with all of... this. He could define it in such simple terms, but he supposed if he had to, it was becoming clear that he loved her. But it was more than that. He swallowed somewhat nervously as she continued; the more she uttered the word mine, the more he could feel his heart jump around in his ribs.
That if he became the monster he knew he could turn into, that she would not fear. She would not turn away. She would not run into the night and leave him to cold confines of his mind to recover from the emotional damage.
Vladimir wanted to open his mouth and speak his own sentiments, but was rendered speechless when Améa rose from her seat. There was a momentary pause as his heart leapt into his throat, a minute second of panic as his worries almost won out against his better judgement. That Améa was going to leave now that her words were spoken and done. Of course that was folly, and his brain was proven correct when he watched her come forward, arm extended out until her felt her fingers on his cheek. His heart returned to its thumping, and his own senses caught the sound of her own heart as it changed in cadence.
Always. Always. Always.
Vladimir let himself smile, just for Améa, leaning into that touch upon his cheek, letting his senses take in every point of contact. "Then always it shall be. And feed from you I shall, my dear Améa." He was almost tempted to feed from her right then and there, but there would be ample time for such later.
He let a hand touch the one on his cheek, his skin cooler than hers, a product of his dhampirism. "Your heart beats quickly, same as mine. I can hear it," he told her softly, "I cannot put name to all of this. But I am not afraid. I cannot control it, but I am not afraid. Not of this, nor of you." He took the opportunity to set his cello down gently before standing up, pulling Améa into an embrace - and he didn't regret a single thing. "I will be your friend, protector, monster. L..." But he let himself trail off at the end. No. Now wasn't the time for such words.
Perhaps a future date. Right now, he needed to tread cautiously, for his sake, but especially her own.

Vladimir's head tilted to the side, curious as to why Améa would hide her face from him. Had he overstepped his bounds? His muscles were wound taut for a moment as he berated himself internally. You stupid man, this is folly. For once, however, Vladimir was able to quell away that voice inside his head. This was especially so after Améa looked back at him, cheeks pink, expressing that all was well. It was the highest compliment a musician could receive, at least in Vladimir's opinion, that one's music was able to transport someone far away from their troubles and aches, their pains and suffering. On a journey of joy, peace, reflection, or of romance, it was all the same. "Thank you," he replied, a smile coaxing to his lips. "It is what a musician strives for, and I accept nothing less than perfection."
That, at least, was most certainly true. When he played, he could forget about his own trials and tribulations, and in that perfection of sound and silence he could forget his own imperfections.
His mind had been churning through his repertoire to select yet another piece to play for for, when Améa began to add more to her previous sentiments, and the man fell into a stone silence, eyes fixated on her. Always I am yours. Gah, that made his heart beat a little faster in his chest even though he shouldn't have let it do so. She meant so much to him, more than just the simple bond of protector that had begun this whole scenario. More than simply being another body, another guard for the home, to keep the occupants safe from harm. He wanted to tell her what he harboured within, badly, but there was never the time nor place.
Thankfully as Améa continued to speak, it brought all of his focus to the speech rather than his thoughts, especially with the serious with which she spoke.
Something that he could not refuse? Whatever it was demanded his fullest attention, and the man quickly settled in to set his cello down into its case for protection. And when it was set aside, he sat forward slightly, eyes boring into Améa's. What could she possibly not want him to refuse? There were so many possibilities, but he did not want to ponder on some of them - they would make his heart do strange things again, and this he could not handle. Not with his emotions as charged as they were.
That plan came crashing down when Améa told him what she wanted.
It was an almost dangerous request. Vladimir did not fear hurting her physically or mentally - heavens above knew he'd do anything to keep her safe. But with feeding came emotions, charged and ready. He'd taken of her blood once before, and the sorceress' blood was the most intoxicating he'd ever had. But with it lent him the power to be closer to Améa. He could pinpoint her location, talk through their mental connection with more ease. And, of course, his dhampiric nature approved of the blood as a fuel to keep his powers strong and healthy. But even with all of those pros, he feared that if he took more blood from her, he would fall into a hole of love and affection that he couldn't get out of, even if he tried. Even if he found out that she would want Zane again. He'd been down the hole of having his heart crushed beneath a heel, he wasn't so sure he could do it again.
But Améa was different.
"I have begun to lose my guilt over desiring your blood," Vladimir admitted quietly. "And I know to feed from you causes no harm. But yet I worry. You know that feeding is an... intimate action." She had been with a full vampire after all, of course she would know what feeding would do to his emotions. "To feed from you will-" Vladimir caught himself, poised on a confession, but it slipped regardless. Out with it. "It will augment what already churns within." And there it was.
"I will feed from you, yes, with your permission always... but I need for you to know that what lies within is not based on... base instinct or want alone. But rather, as you have already told me, if you are mine always, then so am I yours. If this you can accept, that you accept me, then I will feed from you at will."

Vladimir continued his playing, but it had not at all escaped his notice that Améa had seemed poised on the verge of saying something. Was she perhaps going to refute his musical choice? Or was it something else? Vladimir could not ask for clarification, not now, not when the music demanded his attention. The music, and his admiration of Améa both, they took every ounce of his brain capacity.
He would beg her forgiveness after the song was done. For now, he would reflect on everything, much as he had been for the past several days, weeks, and months. He could spend his time reflecting on how much better Améa seemed since he had first laid his eyes upon her when he had returned to Australia a year ago now. He could easily recall how disoriented she had been in the hot sun. How he had picked her up in his arms, taken her to shade and safety, cursing within his mind with every breath and cuss he knew. Zane had never deserved her, not in Vladimir's opinion.
But he would not bring that up. She was still married to him, even if it seemed as though his hold on her had loosened considerably since the year before. Would Vladimir ask for confirmation, however? That was unlikely. Vladimir did not want to risk upsetting her, or worse, finding out that his reflections and his affections were all for naught.
And when the last of the chords rung in the air and it all fell into silence, Vladimir could hear her breathing, hear her heart as it beat away in her chest. Well then, out with it, so he could make his apologies before ceding to more music.
At least music was a good shield, insofar as an instrument and intangible notes could be.
"Forgive me, I began to play and it seemed as though you were poised to speak. Is everything all right?" Vladimir asked at first, before he inquired further, "Would you prefer I change the tone of the music?"
Please don't say yes. Anything but that. For such an answer would mean his affections and his feelings were most certainly misplaced, and even though he knew he could not act on some of the deeper desires coursing through his veins, he did not want to lose his ability to at least hug her. Hold her. To smile at her and revel when she would smile back. The want to kiss any of her worries away was a forbidden wish, and it could not make itself known, not with her vows in place. Vladimir himself almost froze when he realized what he had just thought of.
Gah. He was falling in love with her, and he shouldn't have been.
Monsters aren't supposed to be loved or feel it in kind. He still remembered that line in particular, from all those years ago.

Vladimir continued to play. With every chord, every tremolo, Vladimir allowed his music to speak where his words could not. Music could say so much more than any verbal language could convey. And in this instance, Vladimir was allowing his music to reach out to Améa, to grasp her in its winding, dulcet tones, and hold her just like he had the night Sollozzo struck and killed David. He had promised to protect her - he had not thought that any other form of affectionate thoughts would join in and take over.
And as the song continued, he could see that she was not taking her eyes off of him. There were swirling emotions in her eyes, unblinking as they were, and Vladimir attempted to try and decipher what she was thinking without both breaking into her mind, nor losing his concentration. The song could not be interrupted, it could not be blemished in any way. He had to show her that she deserved to be happy, content, to be protected and lov-
No, Vladimir, there's no point in thinking of that word. But good Lord, it was so hard not to.
When the last tone rang in the air and his music stopped, Vladimir lowered his bow arm momentarily but did not let his eyes leave Améa's face. He knew she loved his music so - she never hid it, and it remained obvious even now. But was there anything else? Vladimir could never bring himself to ask. What he was feeling was forbidden - and besides, he had been burned enough in the past. What made him think that, even if her vows and marriage to Zane were not in the picture, that she would even choose him? The positive of his brain brought forth the conversations they'd had, the closeness that they now shared. The negative brought up his ever familiar argument, in his former love's voice.
He was nothing but a monster.
"I have another piece in similar fashion. I hope it is to your liking, my dear," Vladimir managed to tell her, without spilling out all of the confusing emotions running through him. Reflection was also a beautiful piece, and perfect for his heart at the moment - to reflect on all of this and wonder if he was on a fool's errand, or if perhaps he ought to stop his brain from spearing his heart over and over again. His eyes stayed on her as he played, as they often did.
If it really were a fool's errand, then at least let his end be dignified.

It was almost comforting to watch Améa settle herself down with the cat on her lap, a small smile gracing his lips as he took the cello and prepared for the afternoon of music at hand. All the while his eyes kept careful watch of the surroundings, not wanting to be caught unawares by anything. Even though he was well aware that it was just the two of them home, their animal companions notwithstanding, Vladimir's sense of duty did not leave him. He had vowed to protect Améa, and though he was certain nothing would happen, that did not mean he would be lax.
That was until Améa told him to play what he felt, based from the recesses of his heart.
It was a most dangerous request.
His mind was at war with what his heart wanted. It had been this way for some time now, since Améa had returned to her normal state. Since the night he had held her in his arms and watched her sleep, worry and stress free for a time. Sollozzo was still a risk, Zane was the proverbial thorn in Vladimir's side, Vladimir had no right to feel what he did. His mind was still as of yet too worried to put a definitive label on what his heart wanted.
Perhaps he ought to talk to Stuart... the man was, after all, Améa's biological father.
"Then play from the heart I shall," Vladimir informed Améa. She had made a request, and he could not refuse her, even if it caused him internal pain knowing that he could not have what he truly wished for. He could show Améa all that he could offer her, but in the end, Vladimir was well aware that he could not proceed, nor should he - she was, after all, a married woman still. But to keep her company, he would live with the internal agony. If Améa was happy and content, then that was all that truly mattered - she did not have to know or be burdened by his own emotions.
He chose not to introduce the song by its title - would be too on the nose, almost rude, but it was a beautiful piece, and he was certain Améa would approve of it. To tell her that it was called Seduction was... no. He should not, even as he began to play, letting his hands do their work on the cello. But instead of allowing his eyes to close, they remained open, carefully watching Améa and her feline companion.
Would she be able to read between the lines of the notes and chords that he played?